if only it were a patina

The days have been wearing me thin lately. Every day, I find it that much more difficult to wake up, get up, and face the day. Face my life.

Every day I smile, I laugh, and inside I die, just that little bit more. My psyche is wearing thin, my shininess, my value. My worth. I don’t even know what my face looks like without the 2 dark rings that have taken up permanent residence under my eyes. It has become too much of an effort to try and hide the darkness with make-up, so I no longer bother. My exposure to this life, my struggles, has not made me stronger, but it has made me feel old. Apparently there’s value in things that are old. I don’t feel valuable. I feel worn out, run out, and far from ornamental.

I used to relish in the control that I had over my own life, but exposure to life’s realities and cruelty, has left me tarnished, smeared, empty. Where once there was a heart full of happiness and excitement, now lies hollowness, sadness, bitterness. My exposure to this world has not left with me a patina that is valuable, that is worth getting excited over.

My patina instead is dull, dark, ugly. And diminishing in value.

Who am I.

Who I am.


via Daily Prompt: Patina


so about that fork

I haven’t had a lot to say lately. The words have been trapped in my head. Words that have been cruel and nasty and well, words. That saying of “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never harm me” could not be further from my reality right now.

I am, for all intents and purposes, unemployed. And I’m scared. I’m terrified. I don’t know what to do. I have been searching daily for work, I have sent in countless applications for employment, but still the silence engulfs me. Promises of employment are still to manifest, all the while the end of the month looms closer with each passing day, and the weight becomes heavier and heavier as I know that I cannot meet my financial obligations. I am”working” in real estate, but that has no guaranteed income, and the stress and worry is hurting me.

I ended up at the doctor on Friday afternoon. I don’t go to the doctor. Unless I’m an inch from death, or there’s blood and bones showing, you won’t find me at a doctor. But on Friday I went, and you know what he told me? The pain in my chest, the hectic doof-doof that I’m feeling and the extra beats that my heart is making, is all anxiety related. And that was without me telling him about my job situation. I WANTED him to tell me that I needed hospital and an operation and that there was something critically wrong with my heart. Because that’s ok. That happens. People have bad hearts that need medical intervention. That people can see. But no. My heart is freaking out due to anxiety. Here, have a pill. If ever a hole could have just magically opened up and swallowed me whole, the perfect time would have been as my doctor prescribed some drugs with anti-anxiety crap included. 

I spent almost the entire day in bed today. I got up just before 7am to watch the twins whilst Lee and Morgan-Lee went and played golf, and when they got back after 9am sometime, I went back to bed. I got up sometime after 3pm, not because I wanted to, but I had to. I don’t know why. Now, just before 8pm I’m back in bed. With absolutely no desire at all to face tomorrow.

How the fuck did it all go so wrong? How have I fucked up so colosally. Fuck fuck fuck.

Good night.


PS: sorry for the swearing Aunty Cathy.

dear cl

The husband told me this morning just after 4am that you were no longer with us, that your fight was over. I don’t think it registered with him what he was actually saying to me, as he closed his eyes and drifted off back to sleep. Well, that’s what it looked like to me.

I lay awake, in silent shock. I knew that you were sick. I just didn’t realise how bad it was. I went and looked at your beautiful wife’s Facebook account, and I couldn’t hold back the tears as post after post confirmed the awful news; you were gone. I saw the pictures of you fighting, so so sick, but fighting. And my heart broke. It broke for your mom, for your wife, for your family. And it also broke for my husband.

These past few months, well 20 months have been tough, for both you and him on an emotional level, aside from your diagnosis a year ago. In the short few years that you and him knew each other, your bond was that of brotherhood and friendship, and this morning I held him as he cried, knowing that he and you would never again be able to talk, knowing that everything that happened over the past few months would not be discussed face-to-face. That he wouldn’t be able to shake your hand again, that he wouldn’t be able to hug you again. You and him haven’t spoken since March last year, but the bonds of friendship were never fully broken, and he was looking forward to the day when you were again brothers.

I phoned him a short while ago, and I listened as he broke down, I listened as he explained how angry he was at himself for not going to see you, for not embracing you and being there for you. So I told him to take the words in his heart and mind, and to speak them to you, because you will hear them.

I am so sorry CL. I am so sorry that your light was put out before it had a real chance to burn. But, you were the most genuine, honest, kind and sincere person I’ve ever had the honour of meeting. I am so sorry for L and your mom. My heart is aching for them. I hope that you are pain free, and that you know that the husband and I will be there for your family, always.

Fly high with the angels, and don’t forget to check in from time to time.

G x

but it’s my poo!

I remember sitting up immediately when I heard it; “My poo! Not your poo!” Then I heard the next part; “No it’s MY poo!” Cue me practically falling over my own feet (again) in my rush to get downstairs, in the hopes that I wasn’t going to find a bedroom covered in that first morning poo, times two.

I was very relieved to discover that there was in fact no poo, from either Alex or Maddie. But hearing them argue as to whose poo it actually was, had me run the fastest I have ever run in my 31 years. Please understand that I have experienced poo in the cupboard, poo in the lounge, poo on the dog (don’t ask), poo in my bed and poo in the kitchen. We also won’t talk about my car or the bath.

Yes. This is a post about poo. Baby poo.

And I’m so relieved that it is this short.


life without the drugs

It’s been almost 2 months since I took my last pill. No, it wasn’t something that I discussed with my shrink, because it just kind of happened, without me intentionally doing it. 

I tried to go off of my anti-depressants at the end of May, beginning of June and it didn’t go well. I was so high strung, very emotional and was waiting for my crash. And so I went back on them, as well as also taking my 2 different types of sleeping tablets every night. Then, sometime in June, I went to go and refill my sleeping tablet script, but due to a glitch at the pharmacy, I couldn’t get the 1 type. And so I went a couple of nights with just the 1 pill, and it did nothing. I tossed and turned and what little sleep I did get was filled with nightmares and fear. And so I stopped taking that pill, because no sleep was better than a terror filled sleep.

As fate or luck would have it, I started sleeping again. I am still a horrendously light sleeper, but I can fall asleep again without the assistance of some very strong pills. Whilst I was still busy digesting this, every other day I would forget to take my anti-depressant. I didn’t do it on purpose, I genuinely forgot. Mornings in my house are chaotic, to put it mildly. And I think it was only about 2 weeks or so after I stopped taking them completely, that when I arrived home the one evening and saw the box on the kitchen counter, I honestly couldn’t remember when I had last taken 1. And it caught me completely by surprise.  

Yes I am still tired. Yes, I am still a depressive person. But I do feel that I have a firmer grasp on what’s going on in my head, well at least most days. I still have my quiet moments, my happy moments, and my really sad moments. I still have so much going on in my life, stress and worry, bills and finances, but at least I sort of have a grip on something, 1 thing in my life. These past few days have been especially tough on me; I was unceremoniously “dismissed” from 1 of my part-time jobs on Monday evening, without even being given an opportunity to ask why. I then removed my Facebook, twitter and Snapchat apps off of my phone to just give me a break from it all, to give myself a chance to regroup and figure out where I was in my headspace. I’m still seriously hurting from what happened on Monday night, and I was in an extremely dark place on Tuesday, the first day of my new job. I also made the incredibly hard decision to put myself under debt review for the second time in my life, as my debt is just swallowing me whole. No it’s not something that I ever thought I’d be going through again in my lifetime, but I cannot keep up the hectic working lifestyle that I am, plus be a mom and wife, as I will burn out. Going under debt review doesn’t magically fix all of my financial worries, but it helps. 

The plans I had for my future have taken a bit of a backstep at the moment. But that’s ok. I’m going to use these next few years to reassess my choices and decisions, and also the direction that I want my life to go in. I’m 31 years old, and I have no stinking clue as to why I’m here, what my purpose is, who I am. And I need to figure all of that out, for me, for my kids. 

So, no more drugs. That was a the first step. A new job which is giving me more time with my kids, that was the second step. Getting my finances sorted out, that’s my current step. Working on me, well that’s the step I have to take in between trying to stay sane as I muddle on through this thing called life.

They say that life only really begins at 40.

Here’s hoping.